Accidental Shield (Marriage Mistake #6)(108)

I grab his matted hair with one hand, snap his head up, and level a punch square at his nose.

There’s a loud crunch!

His head snaps back, but I still have him by the hair, and strike again.

I’m winding up for my third and final blow, but he’s already limp.

I want to fucking murder him, beat him into a slurry of meat and blood where he stands, but he’s still breathing. And I know taking him alive would be invaluable to all the other countless people he’s destroyed over the decades.

Growling back my own white-hot rage, I release him with a parting kick to the ribs as he drops to a heap on the floor.

Then there’s just Val, standing beside me.

One look in her bright-gold eyes brings me as close to crying as I’ve been since the day I thought Bryce was in that Jeep his junkie mama rolled.

She falls into my arms, or I pull her in like mad.

I don’t know who’s first. Don’t care.

She’s alive.

She’s in my arms.

She’s safe.

And even the choppy waves pelting us with frigid spray, pushing the skiff out into the dark sea, can’t ruin this moment.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” She lifts her face. “Ever.”

“Never a chance of that happening,” I say. “The people who love me know I’m hard as hell to get rid of.”

She smiles and flushes, her eyes squeezed shut, holding back the sobs I feel racking her body.

I kiss her, hold her, and then fucking kiss her some more.

It’s a battle, but I finally drag my lips off hers because there’s still work to be done. We’re drifting farther from the yacht, farther from shore, into an unsettled darkness that’ll kill us just as swiftly as Cornaro if we give it half a chance.

“You okay, babe?” I ask, my number one priority.

“Yes, I’m fine, but Ray...” She glances at her brother. “Ray!”

Her brother moans weakly. He’s turned this pale, ghostly color.

“He’s bleeding out!” She drops to the floor beside him and looks up at me.

I crouch down next to her. Blood covers the side of his leg, a new injury he must’ve taken in the fight with the mob boss.

“Give me your knife,” I tell her. “I have to cut his pant leg open. See how bad he’s been shot.”

“I don’t have a knife,” she says.

“Then what did you cut Cornaro with?”

“A piece of glass from the table he broke.”

“Glass?”

“Yes, it’s...around here somewhere.” She crawls around, feeling the boat floor. “I dropped it when you landed on top of me.”

“Never mind!” I rip open Ray’s pant leg, examining the wound. “Luckily, the bullet just grazed him, deep enough to make him bleed a lot, but...it’s not good on top of the beating he took earlier.”

“Here, I found a first aid kit.” She hands me a gauze pad. “Open that while I find some tape.”

“Just give me the gauze,” Ray says, his voice a whisper. “I’ll...I’ll hold it.”

“You’re sure you can?” I ask him.

He nods. Pointing with his chin, he asks, “What are we going to do with him?”

I turn and do a double take at Cornaro. He’s leaning against one of the seats, still out cold, now with an orange plastic life ring wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides. It’s like something out of a cartoon.

I glance at Val. “When did you do that?”

“The life ring was right next to the first aid kit.” She smiles and holds up some rope. “I found this, too.”

“Just toss him overboard, let the damn sharks have him.” I’m only half joking.

Deep down, I’m still wrangling with the notion of keeping this motherfucker alive.

“No,” Val says.

“That’s what he was going to do with us,” Ray tells her.

“I know, but it’s too risky,” she answers. “Someone might rescue him. It happened to me, so it could happen to him, too, and I’m not taking that chance. He needs a cell.”

“Well, I hate to tell you this, sis, but we need a rescue. The motor ate a bullet. So did the battery, there’s only one paddle, and I can’t even begin to guess how far we are from the yacht.”

I scan the water, searching for the yacht, which is on its side, this beached whale sinking fast. It’s also too far away.

Holy shit.

We’re several miles out at sea, being blown away from shore. Even with two paddles, maneuvering this boat all the way back would be fuck-hard in this current.

With one oar, it’s not even an option.

Just then, the air fills with what sounds like the heavy beating of a drum. I grin, knowing that sound, and I know who sent it. My buddy Wes Anderson with the FBI.

“It’s a helicopter,” I say. “We have to find a light. Flares or something. My flashlight won’t be strong enough for them to see us from here.”

Val and I search every nook and compartment but come up with nothing. The chopper spots the yacht and hovers over it, but a boat this size, without a light or reflection of any kind, may as well be invisible.

Damn!

Val tries shouting and waving, screaming herself hoarse.